Saxy France
by TheChiaPetOverlLord
Summary: Mathew, an alto sax player, is hopelessly in love with the sexy beast of a man that is Francis, a mellophone player...or so the world thinks. What happens when Mathew learns there's more to Francis then what meets the eye...or ears...? Follow Mathew and Francis, Alfred and Arthur, even Feliciano and Ludwig as they try to figure out love and try to survive the marching season!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Just a few more minutes, I can do this..." Mathew looked at the clock and clutched his alto saxophone harder in anticipation. Just a few more minutes until he fought time itself, packing up the instrument as fast as he could, and practically running out the door. Today would be the day.

Today he would talk to Francis.

For some reason, Francis always packed up faster, left the room faster, and never payed him much attention. Mathew was used to this, and, granted, it's not like Francis was mean to him and purposely avoided him, Francis simply had his own friends he was anxious to get to. Francis had older, more interesting, certainly more musically talented than Mathew, friends.

And that's how Mathew always seemed to be left behind in the band room, everyday, for the past six months.

All he desperately wanted to do was say hello to his crush, Francis, and maybe have a conversation. He didn't know Francis as a person very well, just things that he's heard, but he'd like to get to know him.

But actually getting to that point seemed like swimming across a vast ocean, and only then, Francis would be available to talk to on the other side.

The bell rang and Mathew started immediately packing up, as he practiced at home the night before, cutting his time by many minutes. Francis was still there, causally putting his sexy, rose gold mellophone in it's case, when Mathew was finishing up. He even had time to swab his instrument thoroughly. He was ready. Mathew Williams would officially have his first conversation with the one and only Francis Bonnefoy.

Mathew stood up and was about to make his way over to where Francis was beginning to exit the large door, prepared to make a casual entrance into the frenchman's life, when...

"Yo Mattie! Wait up bro!" His obnoxious brother, Alfred, came bustling up behind, and then beside him, trombone in hand, just ready to crush Mathew's dreams (or at least in Mathew's mind).

"Hey. Just give me a sec okay?" Mathew said to Alfred, not quite able to show all of his anger and disappointment.

"Oh, ok. I'll just wait here for you, then." Alfred told him, secretly happy he would get his daily moment with the perpetually last person out of the room, the band's drum major, Arthur. If he was being honest with himself, Alfred had a crush on him.

But by the time it was all said and done, Francis was long gone, and Mathew's efforts were for nothing.

Mathew sadly turned to his brother, "Never mind, let's just go," he said.

"Oh, okay." Alfred sadly replied. He glanced back at Arthur, hoping he would notice him and maybe look back. He hoped they would lock eyes and have "that moment", the moment where they realized their minds were practically the same, though their personalities were so different. "That moment" never happened and both boys left sad that day, but with the hope that maybe later, something good would happen.

"Maybe tomorrow," both the boys said to themselves.

It was hot. Like, really hot. The sun beat down on them on the practice field and they had no choice but to keep marching, following the directions of their band director, Mr. Edelstein.

Aww, Mr. Edelstein. A true musical genius...as to why he was a high school band director, nobody knew, not even himself sometimes.

"Keep going! Feliciano, stop looking at Ludwig when twirling your flag! Perform up!" The Austrian band director yelled to the young color guard member. Mr. Edelstein was perched high on his tower, far above any of his students, with an umbrella shading him and a cold drink beside him, meanwhile, his students suffered with barely any water breaks while simultaneously listening to him give directions with his annoying, slightly nasal voice that made everyone in the band know exactly why he wasn't married to Ms. Hungary anymore.

"Okay everyone, that should be good for today. Bring it in." Seriously, the man sounded like a duck giving birth when he yelled across the field like that...he kinda looked like one too.

Mathew then dropped his arms and let the instrument hang around his neck, one of the advantages of switching to the saxophone. When he played clarinet, he felt more strain directly on his arms, but, with the sax, at least the weight of the instrument seemed more proportioned, yet it all still exhausted him. Marching band required more endurance than many people would think, more than he used to think. Sometimes he wondered why he did all of this to himself, then he saw Francis walking to where the rest of the band was assembling, and knew.

He had his perfect, wavy blonde hair back in a pony tail. He wore nice shorts and a flowing, thin, white top that showed a bit of his chest. To the world, he looked overly showy and perverted, to Mathew, he looked like a sexy beast.

They gathered outside, ready to end this rehearsal, and listened to their teacher let out annoying quacking sounds for ten minutes, until they finally translated a "you are now dismissed" out of the stupidity that was their band director's voice.

Mathew then ran. Once again, it was a race against time. He ran back to the instrument storage room and began putting his sax away and stuffing it into his cubby. He finished and then turned around.

Francis was standing there, before him, and they could finally have their long-awaited first conversation.

Alfred ran back to the band room, searching for his little brother. He simply couldn't leave Mattie alone, what kind of hero would he be? But then, he heard it.

Arthur was playing his clarinet in the band room.

What kind of hero would Alfred Frickin' Jones be (the 'rickin' being silent)? A HERO WITH A SERIOUS MAN CRUSH!

Alfred casually walked in and cutely tapped on Arthur's shoulder to get his attention, or at least that was the plan. Realistically, he started walking in and tripped over the drumsticks in the floor while about to tap Arthur on his shoulder, causing Alfred to actually hit Arthur pretty hard on his way down and for them both to fall.

"Help! Help me! Get off me, Alfred, you're heavy!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Oh, s-sorry." Alfred, the usually overly-confident, self assured boy stuttered.

After Alfred got off of Arthur, his heroic sense kicked in and he helped the smaller boy up. Arthur stared up at him with a look of speculation and anger.

"What were you doing?!" Arthur asked, annoyed.

"Um-nothing, I swear! I just walked in and I tripped!" Alfred nervously replied.

"Right." Arthur concluded, speculation still in his eyes. "I better leave now, actually," the British teenager said as he gathered his clarinet. As he walked away Alfred stared at his perfect butt and imagined him as Squidward Tentacles from SpongeBob. God, Alfred loved that show, and he loved his Squidward even more.

"Oh yeah, Arthur Kirkland-Tentacles, you will be mine one day..." He said to himself.

Mathew didn't quite know what to do at this point, a part of him never thought he'd get this far, but here he was, and there Francis was, and they were in a situation where not talking would be even more awkward than talking.

Mathew made his attempt. "Hi, Francis. I'm Mathew, in case you didn't know me."

"Oh, hello Mathew. I actually did know you, we are in band together, no? You play saxophone, right? That's such a sexy instrument. Well, I think I have to go now. It was nice talking to you, Mathew." With that, the Frenchman walked away.

'So he does know me! He even knew what instrument I play...oh but, what if it's just because we have similar parts...I mean, that is why I switched instruments in the first place. That's probably it. Oh well, we had a conversation! It actually happened! Now, how do I make it happen again...' Mathew thought to himself.

All of a sudden two people burst through the door. Mathew recognized one as Ludwig, the student teacher, immediately. The other he couldn't see so well because of Ludwig's giant body basically acting as a suction cup to the male with him. Eventually, Mathew picked out a fly-away curl and knew that the other person in the room was Feliciano, the clumsy and cute flag twirler.

'What are they doing?' Mathew wondered.

All of a sudden, he got his answer when he noticed that they were kissing passionately, their bodies hardly ever separating. Mathew stood in shock, unable to move, until a certain something jolted him awake enough to say something.

"I love marching band! You know exactly what to do with your mouth and hands! So much stamina too!" Feliciano exclaimed. Right before any clothes were ripped off or sexy-time started, Mathew cleared his throat.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but...I'm kind-of in here also..." Mathew awkwardly said, gosh, why was he so awkward? I mean, it was a weird situation, and everyone in the room sensed that.

Before Mathew could even think to take a step outside the room a weight fell on his foot.

"OUCH!" He exclaimed. Ludwig had slammed his whole body weight on Mathew's foot so he couldn't escape, and Feliciano had slammed his own back against the door, shutting it with as much force as he could muster, and locked the door. Once the door was locked, Ludwig got up.

"Look, I'm sorry about that, but, before we let you go, you have to promise not to tell anyone about what you just saw," Ludwig told him.

"Why's that?" Mathew asked. It wasn't like a total student teacher relationship; Ludwig was just an unpaid student-teacher for the band, if he lost that job it's not like he'd actually be losing anything at all.

"WHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" A trumpet sounded right in Mathew's ear.

"Wrong answer," Feliciano said. Now, Feliciano was usually extremely sweet, but when it came to his German sausage, he became more vicious than his brother, Romano, when not on medication, speaking of which, Feliciano was almost out of that...

Ludwig then put a hand on the small Italian's shoulder to calm him. "It's okay, Feli. As long as he agrees not to tell, no need to trumpet him. Remember, that's code 604, what would be more appropriate is code 602," Ludwig reasonably and calmly explained to Feliciano.

"Wait, so we dip him in peanut butter and lick it off of him while 'Hey Jude' plays in the background?" Feli asked.

"No, Feli. That's the sexual handbook, what I'm talking about are the "guard codes" I had you also sign that contract."

"Oh right! But...can we lick peanut butter off of him to 'Hey Jude'? I feel like it would be so fun!" Feliciano returned to his normal self then, just slightly less innocent, Mathew thought.

Before Feli could even think about grabbing the stash of peanut butter a certain fat trombone player (coughs, Alfred) stored, Mathew practically yelled to be heard. "Look, I won't tell anybody about this, ok?! Just don't rub peanut butter on me! Please!"

"Okay, You may go, then." Ludwig told him, and with that, Mathew left, scared and relieved.

Alfred found Mathew walking out of the instrument storage room after a few minutes of waiting. Normally, he would ask why his brother was late, but he had been too busy for the last few minutes plotting how to get closer to the British clarinet player/conductor who stole his heart. Mathew was pale as a ghost, still, but, as he looked back on the moments of the past few minutes, he only became more intrigued about both Francis and whatever was happening between Ludwig and Feliciano.

Both brothers left with the same main thought. Like a dramatic 1930's actress they both played out the end of the drama of what had been their day with a (totally not from Gone With the Wind and almost completely out of context), "Home. I'll go home and think of some way to get him back! After all, tomorrow is another day!"

With that playing in their minds they slammed the door open, hitting their nasal band director in the face, and fabulously strutted out the doors of the school.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next day Mathew showed up to school on a mission. He knew conversing with Francis was possible, so now he was going to do it again. He rushed to his band practice, saxophone in hand, ready to leave and have another conversation, like yesterday, but better. Yesterday he looked in the mirror and practiced scenarios:

If he sees Francis in the instrument storage room with people around:

Mathew: Hey, Francis. What's up?

Francis: Nothing much, you?

Mathew: Same, accept I like that new part Mr. Edelstein wrote for us. It's challenging, but it sounds really good, especially when you play it.

Francis (with rosy cheeks because Mathew was determined to look adorable as a polar bear that day, I mean, who doesn't like polar bears?): Oh, thank you. You are too kind.

Mathew: Not necessarily. I just give complements when complements are due, and you're very good. (Then, Mathew would look at his watch and pretend like he had somewhere to be. With a cute smile, he would excuse himself and leave Francis wanting more (obviously).

If he sees Francis in the instrument storage room and it's just them, alone:

Mathew: Hey, Francis.

Francis: Hey, Math-

Before Francis could say anymore his lips would be on him, his hands in his hair. Mathew would cling to Francis like a koala to a sexy eucalyptus tree. Oh yes, Mathew would be Francis's koala...

...or...

The conversation would be the same as if there were people around.

All throughout practice Mathew tried to focus on the tasks at hand, but couldn't stop himself from staring at Francis every five seconds. The way he tucked his hair behind his ears, the way sweat would trickle down his neck, down his back, yet never in unattractive places, like his armpits (cause Mathew isn't into armpit stank...). Mathew began loosing control. He suddenly got so thirsty.

When practice was dismissed, Mathew darted to put his instrument away. He ran as fast as he could, yet his pace was slightly slower than the day before because of...um...a problem he acquired from thinking about certain things...smexy things.

Arthur decided to ignore his brother again, he figured he had a personal problem anyway, with the...issue with his running...

Arthur made a beeline to Arthur, catching the Brit as he was walking away from the practice field.

"Hey Artie! That was a good practice right?" Alfred enthusiastically asked.

"Yeah, I guess. The clarinets could use a little work, but I think with a little more effort we'll be ready for the Hetalia Competition coming up."

"Totally! I can't wait! But...before that, I was wondering if you were busy Saturday? I know Friday's a late night for all of us, with the football game we have to play and everything, but...if Saturday night you wanted to maybe...go see a movie or something, with me..."

"I'd like that." Arthur interrupted him.

Alfred stared with wide eyes, he was so happy! He had a date with Arthur. Okay, so maybe he didn't actually say "date" when asking him out, but this was sooo a date to Alfred, just like how, to Alfred, Arthur was Alfred's future husband (Arthur just didn't know it yet).

Alfred continued to stare at Arthur, thinking about their wedding cake and tuxedos, his blue eyes staring icy daggers at Arthur, and Arthur was heavily freaked out.

"Um...Alfred? You okay?"

Alfred got a bizarre smile on his face and cocked his head to the side, "I do," he mumbled, still lost in his thoughts.

"Right, so I better go. See you Saturday?"

Alfred was jarred out of his thoughts just then and realization of where he was finally kicked in.

"Oh, yeah! Can't wait!" He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck as he said this, trying to recover.

Arthur walked away and looked back at Alfred, who was a few feet behind him. As strange as the American was, he had to admit he had a nice smile, and gorgeous eyes.

'Maybe Saturday will be fun," he thought to himself.

Mathew finally made it to the instrument storage room, but Francis wasn't there.

'Where is he? He couldn't have left yet, I thought I just saw his car in the parking lot when I walked past,' Mathew thought.

He quickly put his instrument away and looked for Francis. He stopped his search upon hearing music. He followed the tune down the hallway and up the stairs. On the way, he recognized it as a saxophone's gentile cry, it was stunning. After following his ears a bit, he found the music to be coming from the computer lab, Mrs. Hungary's classroom. He opened the door and beheld the sight in front of him.

Francis was there, saxophone in hand, sensually swaying his hips, playing Careless Whisper. And dang, it was sexy.

"Dang, that's sexy." Mathew let out. Immediately he was embarrassed, and covered his mouth with his hand. Francis noticed him and put his sax down. He ran up to Mathew in alarm and removed his hands from his mouth, pushing Mathew's back against the door in the process.

"Mathew, I need you to calm down a little and listen to me. Will you do that?"

Mathew nodded. He then slowly put his hands down. "I'm so-"

Francis then put his own hands on Mathew's mouth, keeping it shut. Mathew's eyes widened at this.

"You also said you would listen to me, no?" Francis said, slightly less tense, yet still serious.

Mathew nodded, Francis's hand still on his mouth.

"Good, now you have to promise me you won't tell anything you saw today." Francis removed his hand from Mathew's mouth. "Do you promise?"

"Yes." Mathew replied.

"Good." Francis said this with a smile, his seriousness fading away.

"So, you liked what you saw?" Francis asked.

"What? Yeah..." Mathew said, blushing.

"I didn't know you played saxophone, you're really good," he added.

Francis just smiled at this.

After a moment of both of them recollecting their thoughts, Mathew decided to be brave.

"Why were you doing that?" He asked.

Francis looked up at him and smiled once again.

"Oh, that's my routine." He blushed. 'Wow, Francis is actually blushing!' Mathew thought.

After a pause, Francis continued.

"I'm actually a stripper," Francis told him.

The day after Francis gave Mathew that information, Mathew fell even deeper for that sexy beast of a man. After he found out, they actually were more comfortable around each other. Mathew found out that that was the reason why Francis had to leave immediately after practice; he had to make it to the club in the next town over in time for his shift. The day before, Francis was practicing for his big shift on Friday night. A part of Mathew wanted to ask where the club was, so that he could see him, but he figured it would be weird and a bit embarrassing for both of them (especially Mathew, I mean, if he could get a tent in his pants after just seeing him sweat he was sure his thingy would explode if he saw Francis sweating and half naked. Mathew internally shuttered at the thought of being rushed to the hospital after his tent exploded.

"Just hold on Mathew. It'll be ok." The doctor would say as they wheeled him on a bed, ready for surgery.

"Doc, is Mattie okay?" He would hear a worried Alfred say, and then Mathew would black out, not completely, though, Francis's name would still be on his lips.

Mathew would then awaken a few hours later, with Alfred by his side.

"Hey buddy," Alfred would gently say.

"Alfred, where's Francis? What happened?"

Alfred would then look down, sad for his brother.

"Bro, I don't know how to say this, but the explosion was pretty massive, man...and...you weren't the only one injured."

"What?! No! What happened to him?" Mathew would ask.

"Mathew," Alfred would use his real name, a sign something really bad happened because Alfred was never serious.

"Francis was blasted pretty hard from the explosion. He was knocked into a stripper pole, and he died. I'm sorry bro, but your exploding balls killed him, not to mention...injured some others."

"What?!" Mathew would be sobbing at this. "I don't want them anymore!" Mathew would then dramatically pull up his hospital gown, "Cut it off! Cut it off! Cut it-" Mathew would stop mid-sentence when he would finally look down to see absolutely nothing there.

"Yeah, they tried to salvage what they could...but it was a pretty bad accident. They eventually just had to remove it all."

"Oh..." Mathew would then collapse and die.

'Oh yeah, definitely not going to the strip club anytime soon. No, no, no...' He thought.

Practice finally came around that day and Mathew lusted just as usual over Francis. Except, this time he remained wary of his nether-regions.

Afterwards, Francis, surprisingly, came up to him. They talked about nothing and everything, from school, to everything in-between.

Mathew: What's your favorite subject?

Francis: French. What's your favorite animal?

Mathew: Polar Bear. What do you want to be when you grow up?

Francis: A chef. What's your favorite sport?

Mathew: Hockey.

Francis: Oh, thank goodness it's not football, I despise the sport.

Mathew: Then why are you in marching band?

Francis: Currently, a certain blonde boy who plays alto saxophone intrigues me. Perhaps you know him? He likes polar bears and hockey...(he leaned in to whisper in his ear) and he knows my secret.

Mathew blushed at this. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Really? You think that?" Mathew asked, surprised.

"Oui. You are so interesting, and cute, and..." He leaned in again, "you don't kiddy me because I'm a stripper."

"Of course not." Mathew replied simply.

They both left shortly after, but the exchange was simply the first of many like it. They became friends, or kind of like it (Francis was older than Mathew so they only saw each other in band, which was a class of mixed grades). They even chatted quietly about Francis's secret life as a stripper.

All was well for them, but Italy wasn't so sure about his relationship with Ludwig. All the secrecy made him nervous.


End file.
